Goddess of Legend (22 page)

Mary sailed straight for the tub and began scooping up all of the herbs and flowers.

“Mary.”

“I will not allow anyone to poison you, Isabel. I will not.”

Isabel grinned. She’d bet good money that Mary forgot she forbade herself to call Isabel anything but countess or madam or whatever the hell.

“Mary.”

“What if it were meant for you? What if I had served you something that made you ill? How would I possibly be able to do what you did to save the queen?”

She turned back to Isabel, who was still getting over the shock of whatever had happened to Gwen. Mary’s apron was filled with all the herbs and flowers that she’d sprinkled just a while ago to make Isabel’s bath heavenly.

“Dump them back in the tub, Mary.”

“No, I will not,” Mary said, her freckles looking angrier than the rest of her face. “They might well be dangerous.”

“Please, Mary. I am asking, not demanding.”

“And if I refuse?” Mary asked, chin raised high.

“Then I will ask you to go pick more so that I enjoy my bath.”

Mary’s shoulders deflated, but she turned and dumped the contents of her apron back into the tub. “But how do I protect you from poisons?”

Isabel grinned. “Want to hop in the tub before me?”

Mary giggled. “If you wish, countess.”

“Want to drink the bathwater?”

Mary giggled more and couldn’t seem to stop. She sank to the floor. “Only if ’twould turn me as beautiful as you . . . Isabel.”

Isabel stood stunned for a moment. Which had zapped her more, Mary finally daring to call her by her first name or Mary saying such a sweet thing, she didn’t know. But that verbal taser only lasted for a moment. She laughed and dropped down to the floor with a still giggling Mary. Isabel grabbed and hugged her.

Then they laughed together for a while before Isabel took Mary’s shoulders and pushed her back. Then she laced her hands through Mary’s hair, shoving it back as well.

“Mary, you are such a beautiful young lady. I
wish
I had been as pretty as you are when I was your age. Heck, you know what the boys called me when I was thirteen?”

Mary shook her head. “No . . . what?”

Oh, good gods, she couldn’t remember. She knew they called her something that led to a bloody nose or two, but she was spacing on her nickname.

You are welcome. Just a reminder
.

“They called me stick chick. It hurt a lot.”

“I do not even understand what that means,” Mary said.

“I was tall for my age and quite skinny. So the boys teased me mercilessly. But what it really means is that nasty people say nasty things to make themselves feel better. I got over being stick chick a long time ago. If any have ever said mean things to you, I promise you they are just being petty. Their comments mean nothing and are unfounded. You are a beautiful young woman. You are marrying a man very high up in the realm of Camelot. And I guarantee he did not ask for your hand because he finds you less than beautiful. Are you not happy about that?”

Mary bowed her head. “I wish betimes that James was not so high up in the realm.”

“Because?”

“Because then my friends would not have turned against me so fast.”

“They’ve turned against you?”

Mary nodded, and a teardrop landed on her knee. “And then I was assigned to be your servant, and even more turned away.”

Isabel saw the heartbreak in Mary’s eyes and wondered what kind of world this girl lived in where she had to choose between friends and her man. Or between success in whatever form, rather than remaining stagnant. She supposed in her own day that sort of thing still happened. For example, a stupid, bigoted jackass of a father who would rather see his daughter dead than marry outside her race or religion. But this. This was just wrong.

“Mary, do you love James?”

“Oh, yes, I very much love him.”

“Good. Then remember those friends who are happy for you after you marry. And once you do marry and your station rises, bring them with you. You forget those whose envy and jealousies colored their judgment, and do what you will. Forgive them or ignore them. But never, ever forget those friends happy for you, okay?”

“Countess Isabel, I will ne’er forget you.”

“You had better not!” It was juvenile, Isabel knew, but she felt so close to Mary already, almost as if they’d known each other forever. Had it only been a couple of days?

She held up her pinky finger. “We will be pinky-finger friends for life, should you agree.”

Mary stared, obviously confused. But finally it seemed to dawn on her. She held up her pinky finger, and the two hooked them together.

“Pinky finger friends for life, Mary. The most important bond.”

“Friends for life,” Mary said.

Isabel held back tears. Finally she stood, pulling Mary up with her. “And now, miss, please go sweetly ask others to bring me lots and lots of hot water.”

Mary stared down into the tub. “Isabel, what if . . . ?”

“The queen ingested it, Mary, she didn’t bathe in it.”

“You are certain of this?”

“According to Jenny, who came with news, Tom is. He helped her to vomit it out of her system.”

“That is unpleasant.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I will have hot water brought to you as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Mary.”

They smiled a wonderful friendship smile before Mary turned to leave. But she surprised Isabel by turning back. “I was more than a bit proud of you today, Isabel.”

Isabel, feeling so drained she bet she could sleep for a week, smiled. “Thanks, Mary. It was just training I learned in my youth.”

And wished desperately that she could have used it on Curtis in Afghanistan. But there had been so much blood.

“And, Isabel?” Mary said once again.

“Yes, Mary?”

“The king was quite worried about you.”

“Me?”

“’Tis not as if he was not worried for the queen. Just a thing that I recognized as he was standing outside fretting. He was asking of you.”

“Thanks for letting me know. I will reassure him at supper that all is well.”

 

 

AFTER her long, luxurious bath, Isabel got out, feeling somewhat refreshed, yet still drained. A day full of such promise had gone horribly wrong.

Mary, who had the uncanny ability to know exactly when Isabel would be needing her, came in to help her dress and fix her hair. Today she formed it into a simple long braid that she somehow managed to work so that the braid curled around Isabel’s neck to rest against her chest.

“I picked some flowers this morn, deciding I would weave them into your hair for the afternoon and evening; however, after today ...” She shuddered.

“Mary, we don’t even know if it was any type of flower that made the queen ill. And as we have discussed, she would have had to eat or drink whatever was harmful.”

“Does not hurt to be cautious a’ times.”

Superstitious was more likely, but Isabel didn’t voice it.

“I have a message for you from your healer, Tom, mum,” Mary said as she stood and admired her own handiwork. “He asks that you meet him in the queen’s bedchamber.”

Isabel stood. “By all means, lead the way.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

TURNED out that the royal chamber was not all that far from her own, relatively speaking. Mary informed her that the proximity was deemed to be an honor. The more important the guest, the closer their quarters to the king and queen’s.

The royal bedchamber was exactly that: royal. Tapestries covered much of the walls, the coat of arms of Camelot, she suspected, being the one hanging above the head of the bed.

The bed itself was canopy style, with hunter green silks covering it and draping down the sides. Right now the silks were pulled back and held with gold sashes so that Gwen was visible in the massive bed, appearing pale and frail.

Tom sat dozing in an oversize chair near the crackling fireplace, lending a warm, rosy glow to the room. Seeing no one else in the room to give her leave to enter, Isabel stepped quietly across the huge space and gently shook Tom.

He awoke with a start and a snort, then sat up and blinked. “Oh, Isabel. Good, it’s you.”

He stood up then pulled and tugged at his leggings, grimacing. “My kingdom for a nice pair of chinos and a polo,” he said.

She hugged him, laughing softly. “You do look kind of ridiculous.” Then she stepped back and searched his face. “Are they treating you well? I have rarely seen you except at meals.”

“If this were a medieval Hilton, I’d give it five stars. Yes, they’ve been very accommodating to all three of us. But thank goodness the Lady was kind enough to allow us to bring a few luxuries from home.”

“Really? Such as?”

“Harry found a deck of cards in his trunk. After we send the servants to bed for the night, we get together for a few rounds of poker.”

“Hey, next time invite me.”

He grinned. “We’ve been avoiding it. I think you put yourself through college stealing our money.”

“Oh, bull . . . oney.”

Still, they grinned at each other. She and Tom had dated a couple of times in college, until they’d decided they made much better friends. Then it became their sworn duty to find each other’s soul mates, forcing each other on more blind dates than either cared to remember. Isabel won when she’d fixed Tom up with Brenda Newesome, a sweet girl she’d met when they’d both been waiting tables to help pay tuition.

It was love at first sight, and Tom and Brenda had been together ever since, with three kids—twin boys and an adorable little girl.

“Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry. Brenda and the kids. I hope they aren’t going crazy with worry.”

“Hey, I’m a doppelganger, remember? The Lady assured us all that life is going on as usual back home. You are the only one here for real.”

Isabel wondered if anyone missed her back in Oklahoma. Were people looking for her? Had they found her body?

Isabel truly wanted to get away from accolades. She was happy to have helped another human in distress, but this was feeling like something she’d continue to need to live up to. She knew her own life, her own faults. Perfection wasn’t even in the Isabel dictionary. In the “How Many Times Can You Possibly Fuck Up Your Life?” category in Guinness, her name could be prominently displayed. In bold.

She mentally shook herself. “How’s your patient?” she asked.

“Ah, yes.” They both moved to her bedside. Gwen had been changed into nightclothes at some point. Isabel found herself irrationally hoping that Tom, with the help of Gwen’s maid servant or lady in waiting or whatever they were called, were the two to have disrobed and redressed her, and not Arthur.

It was a ridiculous thought since the king had obviously seen his wife naked plenty of times.

“I had the distinct pleasure of attempting to discern the contents of the queen’s stomach, once she’d expelled them. What became abundantly clear was that she had recently ingested some form of wild mushroom. I learned from the cook who prepared her morning repast that the queen had recently discovered them and requested that they be served in her eggs this morning.”

“Poisonous mushrooms?”

“Would be my best guess, yes.”

“It would account for her hallucinations? Her irrational behavior? Her . . . heart attack?”

“As far as I can tell, considering the appalling lack of equipment, it wasn’t a heart attack per se, just pure and unadulterated poisoning. You saved her life giving her CPR and keeping her alive long enough to let me help, Izzy.”

Isabel smiled. “CPR. Which you taught me a long time ago.”

“Who knew you were such a good student? I thought you were just amusing me when you agreed to be my test dummy.”

“How did you get her to vomit?”

Tom grimaced. “The old-fashioned way. The super-model special.”

“Two fingers down her throat?”

“Exactly. She wasn’t exactly happy about it. Almost bit my fingers off. But if not for you, Izzy, she would not be here.”

 

 

ARTHUR could not believe the jealousy that had turned his stomach over as he stood in the doorway and witnessed Isabel’s familiarity with the tooth doctor. He should be worrying about his wife. He should be considering the idea of a possible murderer wishing harm to Gwen or any at Camelot. But his mind only saw the touching between Isabel and another man. He strode into the room, attempting to keep his need to rid the tooth doctor of all of his own teeth under control.

“And I bore witness to it all,” he said.

They both turned.

“Arthur!” Isabel said.

“King Arthur,” toothful Tom said, offering something of a clumsy bow. There must not be much formality in Dumont, because all seemed out of practice.

“I bore witness to many things today,” he added. “And I know no way of repayment that will be good enough to express my gratitude.”

Tom and Isabel glanced at each other, grinned, then said at the same time, “Hey, it’s what we do.”

They both chuckled as Arthur frowned in confusion.

Isabel smiled, then took Tom’s arm in hers and bumped against him playfully. “We have been friends for many, many years, since we were both in school back in Ok—”

“Dumont,” Tom interrupted.

“Yes, Dumont.”

Arthur stared at their hooked arms, and Isabel detached and stepped slightly aside.